


Learn from the ones we hate the most

by aphrodite_mine



Category: Gone Girl - Gillian Flynn
Genre: F/F, F/M, Misogyny, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-09 00:57:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4327761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphrodite_mine/pseuds/aphrodite_mine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy without Nick.</p><p>Nick after Amy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learn from the ones we hate the most

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chaila](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaila/gifts).



I'm done with Cool Girl. I would say "bored" but that wouldn't be a new development. Cool Girl is the definition of boring. Perhaps more accurate would be to say that I am bored of being boring. Of being easy and predictable. I am starting to believe my own fake orgasms. This is A Line and I am un-crossing it. For my dignity, maybe. For the sake of women everywhere.

Ha.

This is a spur of the moment decision. I am a quintessential New York girl at a very New York party and I am giving Cool Girl a long jump off a short pier, christened by a shot of whiskey I'm sure I would be crucified for wasting. This is a risky move -- I may regret the alcohol remaining outside my system. I may regret not going home with a Cool Girl guy. But I don't really do regret. I get glares returning from the balcony: either I or the cold air is unwelcome. 

The first person to give me more than a cursory glance, to really take in my carefully wind blown hair and flushed cheeks is a chubby girl by the food table. Cliche. But she stops mid reach for the dredges of what passes for appetizers and looks me full on and turns pink. This is amusing. This amuses me. She must be older than me, but it could be the light or her unflattering sweater. It actually looks like the sort of sweater someone sat down and painstakingly knitted, her blotchy face in mind. 

Dearest Diary, Today I kissed a girl named Margo. She had plastic barrettes in her hair and tasted like salt and beer.

"Go," she says, after, and I am surprised but step back, gallantly, hands in the air.

"No." A correction. "Margo. Go. Call me Go."

***

I did all I could, but Amy stays dead. I know the truth, and Margo knows, and on good days Boney suspects, but… there's nothing. Not enough to bury me with, but enough to fuck me into last week. The house, her money, her parents' money, it all goes into litigation and I'm left with Go's couch and a community college job the school just won't fire me from.

I drink.

If Go's closing at The Bar, I'll bring a girl home. A certain kind of girl, I guess, who's interested in me despite--or because of--everything. Give her a fun little story to tell her friends. Sure, I'll get a little rough. That's what they're after, anyway. But I never hurt her, not even when she begs.

Once or twice I try it, try calling her _Amy_ but my dick goes limp and that's good for no one. She's game, though, usually. She'll suck me off while I call her names, taking me deep like an overachiever, gagging a little. I'll come just fine, calling her whore, cunt. 

But never Amy.


End file.
